


The Destroyer of Worlds

by MageArc



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Implied USUK - Freeform, Light Angst, Manhattan Project, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-17
Updated: 2015-12-17
Packaged: 2018-05-07 05:00:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5444210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MageArc/pseuds/MageArc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two men sit down for drinks and a chat that ends up revealing a secret. It seems that war never changes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Destroyer of Worlds

**Author's Note:**

> I tried to make this as factually correct as possible! I apologize for any errors.

“Arthur?” Alfred practically whispers, hand shaking as he takes a sip of whiskey.

The disheveled man looks at him for a moment before letting out a sigh. “Yes?”

“God…They’re just gonna destroy us,” his eyes prick with tears as the words come from his mouth, “We’re gonna destroy each other.”

“Alfred,” Arthur says, more alarmed this time. “What happened?”

The American covers his face and lets out a choked noise, feelings of despair washing over him. His entire psyche was running wild. “I went to where they said to go,” his voice was growing weaker with each syllable, “I thought it was just a flight mission in the Rockies, you know, for better navigation in bad terrain…” Arthur nods and Alfred continues, his face contorted into pain and absolute demoralization. “It wasn’t that at all, they got us all settled and then… Oh, god, Arthur.”

The latter leans forward, putting out his cigarette to give Alfred his undivided attention. “What happened?”

“They didn’t tell us…Roosevelt…Truman and Churchill didn’t tell us,” Alfred mumbles, stripping off his glasses and setting them on the table.

“Tell us what?”

“The Manhattan Project.”

Arthur’s eyes widen briefly, and then he reclines in his seat. “What happened?” He feels tedious for having to ask this question so many times.

Alfred leans forward, hands ready to gesture, to describe. “The sand,” he whispers, “It turned to glass…the bomb is fucking unbelievable.” Arthur fidgets in his seat. “The blast was huge, it was tall and I could see it for miles and miles, it was so bright…Arthur, we’re going to die. This is total war and we’re going to die.”

“Don’t say that,” the war-tattered man remarks, a bit angrily at that. Alfred wasn’t supposed to be like this, especially when he always acts like the savior of everybody. He’s the shining light of high morale in his people, the person that makes them feel better about the outcome. The isolationist who came to the rescue, a new interventionist.

At least the allies let him think that.

Alfred looks at Arthur now, tears running down his face, eyes and visage red. His lip quivers before he utters, “All I’m here for is to be someone’s plaything, a destroyer of worlds.”

There are no words Arthur can express to make Alfred feel better, and he knows it. This sort of disgust and absolute fear comes with their duties as nations. Citizens…oh God, so many civilians. Arthur couldn’t bear the thought. So many, dead, killed by this war. Now with this bomb, the destruction would only increase.

Nothing was going to be the same after this.

“I’m supposed to help fly it in with Enola Gay.” This last sentence causes Arthur to regain his focus.

“What?” he asks dumbly.

“I have to fly in and help drop the bomb,” Alfred repeats again, eyes watching Arthur carefully. “Said it was vital for me to be there.”

“Did you say anything-”

“I tried explaining that I couldn’t,” he interrupts, “They wouldn’t listen.”

Arthur nods solemnly, feeling a sense of dread overcome him. He didn’t want to destroy any of his fellow nations either, they are the personifications of their people, subject to their government’s wishes. Everything they do is subservient to either, and he absolutely hates it.

“Please remember, Alfred,” he says, “that you’re doing your duty. It’s not your fault.”

Alfred shakes his head helplessly, practically downing his whiskey, leaving little remnants. “If only you were there to see it,” he mutters. “Only reason I got invited was because they knew I was gonna feel it.” Alfred pauses for a second. “They didn’t have a choice.”

“Once you experience bombs for a while,” Arthur says slowly, not looking up at Alfred, “You start to become numb to it. I can’t feel it anymore…”

“I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner,” Alfred says quietly.

“It doesn’t matter. I’m still alive, aren’t I?” Arthur smiles weakly at him.

Alfred tries his best to return the gesture, but fails. “Yeah.”

They stay silent for a while, refilling and taking sips of their drinks in a slow manner. Time was standing still, it seems, throughout this war. There was never peace, everything felt stale and disgusting. Everyone was morose and tired. Arthur sighs and leans his chin on his palm. “Perhaps you should start preparing,” Arthur says, finger circling the rim of his glass. Alfred gives him a look of slight confusion. “The- erm, the bombing...” he clarifies.

Alfred nods in understanding, eyes glazed over. “How am I supposed to prepare for somethin’ like that, Artie?” Alfred laughs sadly, tapping his fingers on the wooden surface of the table a tad impatiently.

Arthur gazes at him for a few seconds, as if he was looking for a proper answer. His face devoid of expression, he whispers, “You don’t.”

Together they sat, hollow and aching for more feeling than nothing. Arthur couldn’t help that inching guilt that was ensnaring his psyche. What was he supposed to say? There was nothing he could really do to help ease Alfred. So, instead, they stop talking and down the rest of their drinks, trying to numb the constant thrum of war in their bodies, pulsing, never stopping.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this because, when learning about WWII in my class, I found it extremely interesting. You see, the blast was so powerful that it turned the sand to glass during the test. Every scientist and government official who watched were given welding glasses so they'd be shielded from the light of the blast since it was so goddamned bright. FDR authorized the building of the bomb, but it was so secretive that he hadn't even told his VP at the time (Truman, who incidentally became president and was later debriefed on the subject) about it. Like all radioactive things, the test site is still radioactively charged but is considered a historic landmark, for obvious reasons. The Enola Gay, a plane flown by Paul Tibbets, was the B-29 bomber that dropped the atomic bomb on Hiroshima.
> 
> As a note, I'd like to redirect your attention to the line where Alfred says he's a "destroyer of worlds" which I coined off the head scientist of the project, J. Robert Oppenheimer. You can see his interview here --> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n8H7Jibx-c0


End file.
